


On The Other Side

by AlElizabeth



Series: Panem et Tyrannis [2]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Supernatural
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: The 125th Hunger Games is over. Dean is the winner. He returns to his home, barely able to accept what his brother's death or what future has in store for the newest Victor. Sam, meanwhile, is very much alive, a prisoner of the Capitol, he must quickly learn to survive in this new and terrible life.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Homecoming

If I thought the train ride from District Twelve to the Capitol was the longest journey of my life, I was wrong. Returning home without my brother was so much worse.

I had never felt so alone in my entire life.

Sam had always been by my side; my shadow and companion.

I didn't know what to do without my little brother to take care of. He was the reason I got up in the morning. He was the reason for everything I did. He was my responsibility.

And now he was gone.

How was I supposed to face my Dad without my brother? How would I face the Harvelles, little Joanna Beth?

As the train raced along the tracks, closer and closer to District Twelve, I wanted nothing more than for it to crash so that I wouldn't have to look at the disappointment in the faces of those I loved because I was the one who made it back.

I know now I was being selfish, ridiculous, but I couldn't help but imagine that I was the one who was supposed to have died in the Arena, that, all along, whomever had put our names in for the Games, had meant Sam to be victorious.

Thankfully, after offering the tea, Bobby stayed out of my compartment. I didn't care where he, or Sugar was, as long as they stayed away.

W

Hours passed but I barely noticed. All I could think about what my baby brother, replaying the last few minutes of the Games in my head, desperately trying to figure out if there had been anything I could have done differently to save him. It was far too late for that, I knew, but I couldn't help it. I was certain that if I had just done something differently, Sam would be alive.

I jumped when the compartment door slid open and banged into its frame.

"Sorry," Bobby murmured quietly, "Didn't mean to startle ya."

I shrugged, turning my face away from him.

"We're almost to Twelve," he told me, "We'll arrive in about a half-hour."

"Right," I responded because it was expected.

The door to the compartment slid shut again.

I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against the cold glass window.

W

I must have fallen asleep- for how long, I don't know- but the sudden shriek of the locomotive's wheels as they grinded against the tracks as it slowed down, approaching the station in District Twelve, jarred me in more ways than just physically.

Was I ready to face what would greet me out on the platform? Absolutely not.

I stared out the window, my heart hammering in my chest, as the grimy platform slid slowly into view.

My mouth opened in surprise. I had expected a crowd of neighbours- miners and merchants and their families- forced onto the platform by Peacekeepers to pretend that my return was some glorious victory.

Instead, the only living creature on the platform was a fat, glossy black raven that paused in tearing apart a piece of garbage to stare at the approaching train with its eyes like liquid coal.

The door to my compartment opened yet again and Bobby Singer was standing there.

"You ready?" he asked.

"No," I told him truthfully but stood anyway, suddenly not wanting to stay on the train any longer than I had to.

Bobby stepped back as I approached the doorway and allowed me to lead him towards the front of the train.

I kept my gaze purposefully straight ahead, not looking out any of the windows in the compartments we passed. Once we had reached the front of the train, I stopped. My hands were clammy with sweat and I was feeling slightly lightheaded.

"Open the door," Bobby whispered in my ear, still standing behind me.

I quickly blotted my palms on my pants and reached out, gripping the cool metal handle and shoved open the door. The platform was just as empty as before. The raven, startled, took flight, let out one rusty croak as it rose into the grey sky.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of my home District- soot and coal dust, a faint whiff of garbage coming from the Heap- and climbed down the three metal steps attached to the side of the train, just beneath the door, and onto the concrete platform.

"What do you say we go home?" Bobby stepped up beside me and placed his warm, calloused hand on my shoulder.

"But don't you-" I began, forgetting that now, as a victor of the Hunger Games, I would no longer live in the little make-shift house Dad, Sam and I had called home since the fire that tore through the Seam twelve years ago.

I would now be allowed to live in the Victors' Village with my family- which now included only my father- for the rest of my life.

A lump in my throat suddenly prevented me from speaking so I simply nodded. I followed Bobby as we walked silently away from the idling train and putting the Capitol out of my mind, at least for the time being.

W

A plain cinderblock wall about eight feet tall surrounded the Victors' Village, more so to keep people out than to keep them in. I guess the first President was concerned those who lived in the Seam would see the fancy houses of the Victors' Village and try to live in them.

There was an opening in the wall, a wrought-iron gate flung wide to admit entrance into the exclusive neighbourhood.

Bobby and I stepped through the gate and I stared at the mansions- twelve in total; six on either side of the cracked, potholed road- looming over us. They all looked fairly similar; they were large and grandiose, made of white marble, real glass windowpanes, and copper shingles on the roofs.

"Which one is yours?" I asked Bobby, trying to see if I could tell which house looked the most lived in.

"Why don't we go see yours?" my Mentor asked and I followed him wordlessly, in a state of shock.

Somehow Bobby must have been told which mansion was mine, as he moved purposefully down the road and into the yard of a mansion that had a metal number 5 on the door.

Bobby stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the mansion and motioned for me to go first. I did, feeling as though I was in some kind of a dream. I imagined that soon I would wake up in my own bed, the mattress lumpy and the blanket scratchy, the familiar coziness of our little shack around me.

I raised a hand to knock on the door.

"Go on in," Bobby called, "It's your house."

I hesitated, then lowered my hand to the doorknob instead. The handle turned easily beneath my sweaty palm and the door opened smoothly, silently.

The first thing I saw was a long, narrow foyer, the walls an off-white colour, the floors paneled in long strips of pine. Beside the door was a pair of scuffed, muddy boots I didn't immediately recognize.

Bobby stepped inside right after me and closed the door. I gaped. The house appeared to be illuminated by wall sconces but instead of open flames, light bulbs- something I had only ever seen in the Capitol- cast a steady, yellow glow.

"Hello?" I called out. Bobby game me a gentle shove and I took a couple of steps forward.

"Is anyone here?" I called again, slightly louder this time.

I felt oddly, like I was intruding. I didn't want to go further into the house.

I heard thudding footsteps sound from deeper inside the mansion, coming closer and closer. I grew tense, my brain telling me to run, and I half-turned towards Bobby.

"Dean!"

That voice; that gruff, sometimes stern but always loving, voice I had known since I was a baby.

I turned away from Bobby and stared at my father.

He didn't smile when he saw me. He simply stared, wide-eyed, as though he was the one in a dream.

"Dean," he spoke again, softly, this time.

"Dad," I replied and felt the lump grow in my throat again, tears sting my eyes.

Suddenly I was running, not away from my father but towards him. I grabbed the front of his shirt and buried my face against the soft fabric. I breathed in his scent; sweat and coal dust and felt the tears escape my eyes and leak down my cheeks. But I didn't care; I pressed my face into my father's chest and cried.

I felt strong arms wrap around my shoulders and squeeze, warm drops of water pattered onto my hair. My Dad too, was crying.

We stood like that for a long time, somehow sorrowful and cheerful at the same time.

Then, Dad pulled me back, held me at arm's length.

"You've changed," he told me after peering at me for a long moment, "I don't know how, but you have."

I didn't say anything. I was taking in the sight of my father. He had changed as well. He looked thinner, almost gaunt, and I was sure his hair had more grey in it now than it had before Sam and I had been named Tributes. How long ago had that been? I didn't even know how much time had passed since the Reaping.

"Are you hungry?" Dad asked, finally releasing me though reluctantly.

I had been so nervous about coming home that I hadn't noticed how hungry I was; suddenly I was ravenous.

"Yes," I told my Dad and he smiled slightly.

"You can come too," Dad called behind me, to Bobby, "Ellen's made enough to feed and army of Peacekeepers."

"Ellen's here?" I asked, surprised.

Dad nodded.

"Who else?"

"William and Joanna Beth," he told me.

I looked at him questioningly.

"They wanted to be here when you came home."

I nodded and followed my Dad down the foyer and directly into the large, warm kitchen.

"DEAN!" a girl screamed my name and suddenly I was holding Joanna Beth as she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me with all her little girl strength.

I stared past the towheaded child at the kitchen. The floors were made of smooth, interlocking black stone and the walls were the same off-white as the walls of the foyer. There was a large wooden table in the center of the room and a huge hearth with a raging fire at the far end of the rectangular room. The longer sides of the room had cupboards and counters for preparing and storing food and cooking instruments. On the wall opposite the fireplace was a large pantry.

Ellen was hovering over a cast-iron pot hanging above the flames, stirring something inside it. William was sitting at the table, a cup in one hand.

Once Joanna Beth had released me and returned to the hearth, taking the spoon from Ellen, the girl's mother approached me with tears in her eyes.

"It's so good to see you again," she hugged me and kissed my cheek tenderly.

She said nothing about Sam, none of them did. I sat down at the table across from my father and accepted a cup of white liquor.

I had never had alcohol before and was surprised my father was allowing me to have it but when I questioned him he looked me right in the eye and told me I was man enough to drink with him and William.

I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip. The smell of it was bitter and the taste was sharp, almost acidic. It burned against my tongue but I swallowed, and it seemed to burn down my throat too. I didn't drink anymore.

Soon dinner was ready; a bland soup made of pheasant, greens and seasoned with salt and hard, slightly stale rolls. After all the rich and fatty foods I had eaten in the Capitol, I appreciate the simple fare of District Twelve. This was the food I had grown up with, the food I ate when I was happy or sad, healthy or sick and I couldn't get enough. I was hesitant at first to ask for more, but when Ellen saw me eyeing the pot, she herself took my bowl and filled it again. Slightly embarrassed, I muttered my thanks before eating my second bowl of soup with the same gusto as the first.

After dinner, the Harvelles left, heading back to Seam and their own tiny house; which left only Bobby and my Dad and me.

I excused myself from the table, having the feeling that the two men would want to talk alone- and I didn't feel much like contributing to the conversation anyway- and so I explored the mansion.

There were four bedrooms our new house- each one large than our old shack- an office, a study, a living room with a fireplace almost as big as the one in the kitchen, and a basement I guessed was for storing extra items not being used by whomever lived there before us.

After I had explored and examined all the rooms save the basement, I returned to the kitchen to find my Dad sitting alone.

"Where's Bobby?" I asked.

"He went home," Dad said and drank deeply from his cup.

"Come," he told me as he sat the cup down on the table a little harder than he had intended, liquor sloshing over the rim, "Sit."

I sat across from my Dad. I noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and I wondered just how much alcohol he had drank this evening.

"I'm so glad you're back," Dad told me, "So glad."

I offered up a small smile. I was feeling slightly uneasy about this. Although my father did have a temper, he was never violent with me or Sam or our mother. He might shout and stomp around in his big bulky boots, he may throw things around the room or even punch a wall but he would never hit one of us. But that had been before the Hunger Games had taken Sam away.

"Did he…" Dad began but then stopped, his face suddenly screwing up as though he were trying not to cry, "Did he suffer?"

I knew exactly what Dad was talking about and, although I hated myself for it, I lied.

"No," I assured him, "He didn't suffer."

Dad nodded and finished the last of his drink and stood.

"I'm sure you're tired," he said.

Not really but I told him I was.

"Why don't we both call it a night?" Dad suggested and I stood, following him towards the bedrooms.

"I brought our things from our house," Dad explained, "I put yours and… and your brother's in one room."

"Okay," I told him. I had seen our meager belongings sitting side-by-side on one of the beds when I had explored the bedrooms.

"I wasn't sure which…" Dad began but shook his head, "Never mind."

I said nothing but took my leave and went to the bedroom where my Dad had left my belongings. There was a switch on the wall beside the doorway and when I flicked it upwards the sconces on the walls lit up. I closed the door behind me and walked over to the bed.

Sitting down, I picked up the burlap bag that held all of Sam's worldly possessions: a large chunk of quartz rock, a couple pennies turned green with oxidization, a toy bear that was missing its buttons eyes and was stuffed with straw, and of course, his clothes.

I picked up the bear. Dad had found it years ago in the Heap- tossed aside by a merchant family perhaps- and had brought it home to Sam when he was still toddling around. The toy had been more or less forgotten in recent years, crammed into the crevice between Sam's bed and the wall, but when he had been small it had been his constant companion.

Holding the soft, worn toy in my hands, I couldn't help but think about Sam, especially in his final moments. I pressed the bear's soft belly to my face and took a deep breath. It still smelt like Sam, even after so long. I lowered the toy and lay down on my side on the bed, not bothering to move the burlap bags that held my things and my late brother's. I barely noticed how soft the mattress was, how crisp the sheets were and closed my eyes, hugging the bear to my chest and fell into an exhausted slumber.


	2. The Red Market

Sam had but a moment to stare at the building before him in awe. It was squat, dwarfed by the taller structures on either side of it, with large windows made of glass stained red. A single sidewalk led towards the door to the building, the pavement flanked by flourishing rosebushes bursting with fragrant crimson blossoms.

Then the Peacekeeper was ushering Sam down the sidewalk, the sickly-sweet scent of the roses making him lightheaded. The red building's doors opened automatically and, with one hand on the boy's shoulder, the Peacekeeper steered Sam inside.

The doors slid shut silently behind them and the twelve-year stared at what was clearly meant to be a lobby of some sort. Everything was white, blindingly white: from the shag carpet on the floor to the paint on the walls, to the marble desk at the opposite side of the room. The only things that were not white were the black tables, chairs and chaise lounges scattered around and the Capitol citizens sitting at them. Men and women in expensive and extravagant clothing sat drinking pink, bubbly alcohol from fluted glasses, picking up dainty canapés with their fingers and chatting animatedly to one another.

Sam noticed a pair of Avoxes- one an elderly man and the other a young woman- were walking amongst the gathered Capitol citizens, offering food and drink on platters.

"C'mon," the Peacekeeper's grip on Sam's shoulder tightened and he steered the boy towards the marble desk.

A woman with electric blue hair sticking out in spikes around her head peered down at Sam with a scrutinizing expression. Sam lowered his gaze to stare at his feet as the Peacekeeper spoke to the woman.

"Fresh meat," the man grunted with a chuckle.

"Hm he's pretty young," the woman commented and Sam heard a sharp clacking sound, "Roughly what age?"

"Eight or so," the Peacekeeper told her in an offhand way, as though he could care less about her question. Sam knew he looked younger than he really was but he didn't think he appeared that young. Not that it really mattered anyway.

"I need something more solid, Cicero, you know that," the woman snapped.

"Nine, then," the Peacekeeper grumbled.

More clacking followed.

"District of Origin?"

"Ten," Cicero answered after a moment hesitation.

Sam frowned, wondering why the Peacekeeper would lie about where he was from. Maybe to prevent anyone from finding out who he was? Not that he thought anyone in the Capitol would care if they knew he was one of the Tributes from District Twelve.

"Crime?" the woman asked.

Cicero sighed, "High treason… Just like every other Avox."

"You know I have to ask," the woman retorted, sounding angry.

"Bring him around here," she said next and Sam was yanked around to the side of the desk.

He glanced up at the woman. In addition to her blue hair, her dress was long and elegant, appearing to be made up of thousands upon thousands of tiny sapphires that sparkled under the white lights every time she moved.

Sam instantly recognized the long, silver tube the woman held in one hand. It was like the one that had implanted the tracking chip into his arm before the Games.

Without speaking to Sam, the woman took hold of his arm, the same one in which the original chip probably still was, and pressed the end of the needle against the skin of his forearm. Sam didn't even flinch at the sharp, short burst of pain as the chip was implanted. The woman dropped his arm as though she'd been touching something dirty and spoke to the Peacekeeper again.

"We still on for Saturday night?" the woman smiled, her teeth as white as freshly fallen snow. She stretched out one long-fingered hand with blue nails and dropped a key into the Peacekeeper's palm.

Cicero grinned, "Of course we are."

Then he turned to Sam, took his arm and dragged him past the desk. The twelve-year old noticed now- how could he not before- that there were doors on either side of the desk. To the right was a white door, above which was a silvery plaque with words he couldn't read engraved into it, on the left, a red door with no plaque above. They went through this door.

Sam wasn't sure what he was expecting but it wasn't this. A long hallway, lit by white fluorescent lights that flickered and buzzed, stretched out ahead, with a concrete floor and unpainted cinderblock walls.

While the lobby of the building had been relatively warm, this part was chill. Sam shivered, the cold seeming through the floor and into the soles of his bare feet. Now that he no longer awestruck by the opulence of the Capitol's citizens indulging in hors d'oeuvres or the sterility of the lounge, Sam's discomfort returned tenfold. He was so tired, exhausted in fact, and all he wanted to do was stop and sleep. His mouth and throat still hurt and there was a metallic taste every time he swallowed. He was cold, he was scared, and he was alone. No one, or at least no one who cared, knew where he was or what was going to happen to him next. He thought of his brother, wondering if Dean had made it back to their home District yet and felt tears sting his eyes. His stomach growled and Sam realized it had been a long time since he'd last eaten anything.

Sam looked up and saw that they were rapidly approaching yet another door, this one, again had been painted red. Sam decided he didn't really care what happened now as long as he could get something to eat and have some time to sleep.

Cicero, the Peacekeeper, shoved the door open and pulled Sam into the room behind him. This room was dark, darker than the lobby, certainly and even darker than the hallway they had just left. It took a minute for Sam's eyes to adjust to the gloom and when they did, the boy wanted to take back his earlier thought; he didn't want to stay here even if it meant he'd get food and a rest.

The room was large and wide, with a raised stage in the center and rows of cages along the walls. The cages, several feet high were made of chain-link fencing, and inside were men and women, all dressed in red, all Avoxes.

Cicero approached one of the numerous doors set into the cages, took the key the woman had given him and unlocked the door. The Avoxes nearest the door moved away, their expressions fearful. Cicero pushed Sam inside and closed the door, locking it. The Peacekeeper peered at the boy for a moment before raising his hand, wiggling his fingers in a mockery of a 'goodbye' wave and turned, whistling, left the room through a door painted white.

Sam stared after Cicero for a long time. The gravity of his situation struck again and suddenly Sam was crying, his fingers curled around the fence, shaking uncontrollably.

No one moved. No one came to comfort the boy.

When Sam turned around, the others looked away or looked down. He couldn't blame them. He was sure they had been in his position once.

Unsure of what to do, he sat down with his back to the fence and closed his eyes.

W

Sam didn't know how long he slept for, but when he awoke his neck was stiff and sore from being bent awkwardly. He rubbed at his face with his hands and glanced around. Nothing had changed. The other Avoxes sat, crouched or stood around him silent and sad, staring at nothing with dead-eyed expressions.

Sighing Sam moved away from the fence and found a spot against the cinderblock wall, settling down between a boy not much older than Dean and a matronly-looking woman.

For some reason (maybe he just needed to see a friendly face) Sam smiled at the woman. At first she averted her gaze as though she hadn't seen him. Sam looked down, feeling his eyes sting with tears again. Then a gentle touch on his shoulder made him look up. The woman was peering down at him, her arms spread. Without hesitation, Sam went to hear, leaning his head against her ample bosom. The woman folded him in her arms and embraced him. Finally, Sam's tears overflowed and dripped onto the woman's worn, red dress.

Warm drops, like rain, pattered onto Sam's head and it took him a moment to realize that the woman was also crying. He tilted his head up to look at her. She had her eyes closed and was sobbing without a sound.

Sam noticed that some of the other Avoxes were watching them but he didn't care. He wanted to stay like this, in the comforting embrace, forever.

W

It seemed to Sam as though The woman drew away from the embrace quickly, her expression alert, as though listening. Since it was so quiet in the room, only the rustle of fabric or a muted cough to break the silence, it was easy to make out the sounds of many approaching footfalls and excited jabbering.

Sam inched closer to the woman, frightened.

The white door opened and a group of Capitol citizens entered the room, talking and laughing with one another. A cadre of Peacekeepers in their black uniforms followed the brightly coloured citizens, standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind them, grim-faced and watchful.

Sam peered up at the woman, wanting to know what was happening. She didn't look at him; she was watching the Capitol citizens. Sam turned to look too.

A short, man, shorter even than Sam, extricated himself from the group and jumped up on the stage. He was wearing a gold-coloured suit and a sardonic grin. His pale, bald head- like a hard-boiled egg- shone dully in the dim lighting.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out in a surprisingly deep baritone for someone of such small stature, "Welcome, welcome."

The talking died down and the Capitol citizens turned their attention to the man on the stage.

"I trust you all had your fill of food and drink?" he asked and there were accompanying nods and mutters of agreement.

"Right, then onto the reason why we're all here," the man said and motioned one of the Peacekeepers to step forward.

The Peacekeeper, a tall, wiry young man approached the cages and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and the men and women wearing red all backed away. Though they were farther away from the Peacekeeper, Sam grabbed the woman's plump hand tightly in his own.

The Peacekeeper grabbed a hold of the Avox closest to him, a young woman, and dragged her out of the cage, closing the door after her. The young woman was pulled up onto the stage and the man in the golden suit started talking again, holding out a silvery tablet from which he read.

"She's seventeen years old," he told the assembled Capitol citizens, "A native of District Four. She knows how to cook and clean. She's been in our service for two and a half years."

The man looked up at the well-dressed crowd in front of him, "Shall we start the bidding at a hundred Credits?"

There was a murmur of conversation from the crowd and then a man with whiskers like a cat raised his hand.

"We have a hundred Credits, do we have two hundred?"

More talking; this time no one raised their hands.

"A hundred and fifteen Credits?" the bald man asked, "She's a hard worker, folks and young too." The man smirked and winked.

A woman raised her hand.

"A hundred and twenty, do I have a hundred and twenty Credits?"

No one raised a hand.

"We have a hundred and fifteen Credits, going once, going twice," the man hesitated, "Sold! To the lady in that lovely purple dress."

The young woman was pulled from the stage by the Peacekeeper and was ushered through the red door to whatever fate awaited her.

Another Peacekeeper took a second Avox from the cage, an elderly woman this time, originally from District Eight, who was bought by the woman wearing the purple dress as well.

Sam watched as several more Avoxes were sold, a sense of horror and dread growing in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't help but think of the Avox girl who had served him and Dean while they had stayed at the Training Centre and wondered if she had once stood where he had, waiting to be bought by some Capitol citizen like a piece of furniture. A deep sense of shame overcame Sam and he buried his face against the matronly woman's arm, not wanting to watch anymore.

W

Soon enough the auction ended and the Capitol citizens and Peacekeepers exited through the snow-white door, leaving the remaining Avoxes in silence.

Sam peered up at the woman, wishing he could talk, but settling for squeezing her hand tightly instead. She looked down at him and smiled, cupping her other hand against his cheek. Sam remained close to the woman, whose name he did not know, after that.

There was no way to tell the passage of time- no windows; no clocks- but the other Avoxes somehow seemed to be able to sense it. After what might have been a handful of hours, the Avoxes all began to grow restless, their expressions changing from hangdog to expectant. Many turned their gaze to the red door.

The woman tapped Sam's shoulder to get his attention and moved her hands and fingers in a strange way that confused him. She saw him frowning and changed her hand motions. She pinched her thumb and fingers together and brought them to her mouth, once, twice, and again.

For a moment Sam didn't know what she was trying to tell him and then it suddenly dawned on him. She was pretending to eat something! They were going to get food!

The woman seemed to know what Sam was thinking and she nodded. The red door across the room opened and three Peacekeepers entered. Two held something in their arms while the third was empty-handed.

As they approached the cages, Sam saw that they were holding small loaves of bread. The empty-handed Peacekeeper unlocked the door to the cages and his comrades stepped inside.

A male Avox, who looked as though he was around the same age as Sam's father, was the first to approach the Peacekeepers. Reaching out, he took one of the offered loaves of bread. Quickly, still cautious, the other Avoxes stepped forward, one-by-one or in pairs, not wanting to rush towards the Peacekeepers and spook them.

Sam felt the woman's hand on his shoulder, firm and warm, and he remained where he was as she joined the queue. The woman returned with a saucer-sized loaf of anemic-looking unleavened bread. She sat down beside Sam and ripped the loaf in half, handing him the larger piece.

The boy accepted the bread gratefully and took a small bite. It was stale and without much flavour but Sam didn't care, it was food, and to him, it was the most delicious bread he'd ever eaten.

Once both Peacekeepers had delivered the loaves the exited the cages quickly, locking them up again. Sam swallows thickly, the dry bread sticking in his throat.

The woman puts a hand on his shoulder and points to the far end of the cage where a spigot sticks out of the cinderblock wall at waist height, a collection of tin cups clustered on the floor beneath it.

The woman puts her hand around Sam's and guides him towards the spigot and watches the third Peacekeeper- the one who did not bring bread- approach a pair of handles set into the wall beside the white door. The Peacekeeper turned the handles and Sam watched in surprise and a stream of water squirted from the spigot in the cage and onto the concrete floor.

The woman quickly grabbed one of the tin cups off the floor, held it beneath the flow of water to fill it and then passed it to Sam. The water was icy cold and had a strong metallic taste, as though it had been sitting in the pipes too long but he gulped it down just the same.

Someone jostled him and he turned to see other Avoxes crowding around, trying to get to the water as well. Feeling the woman's warm, calloused hand grip his wrist, Sam allowed himself to be pulled away from the spigot and further into the cage. He turned to watch the others push and clamber to get to the water.

Sam took a sip from the cup he still held and took a nibble of bread before shoving into a pocket in his shirt, saving it for later. The woman smiled at him and sat down against the wall, lifting one arm. Sam felt his own lips curl upwards and he sat down beside her, allowing her to put her arm around him and hold him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has so far given Kudos! Keep it up!

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a moment to leave kudos or a comment if you want to see more of this story!  
> Story title comes from a song by Kansas.  
> Chapter title comes from a song by Josh Ritter.


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